


Mrs. Hudson's Revenge

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A little domestic, Awesome Mrs. Hudson, Fluffy, Funny, M/M, Mrs. Hudson to the rescue, Revenge, She's not having it, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Being Idiots, Time out on baked goods for a week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-03 22:52:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14006589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: Mrs. Hudson isn't who you think she is. She's got your number and she's willing to use it. Sherlock and John don't stand a chance. Beware the Hudson, she was BAMF before you were born.Chapter 2 Hudders against Mycroft. Put your money on her.





	1. How'd she do that?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [All of Sherlock fandom. Where ever you may be.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=All+of+Sherlock+fandom.+Where+ever+you+may+be.).



> Due to popular demand there will be another chapter. Who are betting on? Mycroft or Mrs. H?
> 
> Thanks fandom for reading my little stories. From an old bird to you, many hugs and a little bird seed!

Now not much is totted about a certain landlady of note. Who, for all intents and purposes, seems to be an old fashion, knitting your scarf, washing your laundry, scrubbing your lino, making your tea, cooking you scones, motherly, sort of woman. A former professional dancer, no I didn’t say what profession, Mrs. Hudson’s life is more mysterious than any locked door murder that you could come up with. 

She is thrilled when her personal detective, Sherlock Holmes, moves into her upstairs apartment. She feels deeply attached to the quirky brunette. He’d gone out of his way to get her out of a tight and ever downward spiraling marriage that made her life a living hell. So having him move in, will allow her to take him under her ever expanding and comforting wing. He has no idea how expanding and comforting she can actually be.

Mycroft Holmes had never even done a through background check on her. Thinking, like everyone else, that she was of little concern.

When Dr. John Watson turns up to move in with Sherlock, she is over joyed. Mrs. Hudson can see way before Sherlock that there was a definite attraction between them. Sherlock is actually trying his very best to behave around the good doctor. How unusual and heartening. The boy was always drawn to military types. She knew that from all the military magazines and paraphernalia scattered around his old haunts.

Sherlock may not be self aware of his attraction, but it’s like a neon sign to Mrs. Hudson and John, what a gift he has turned out to be. She can see the deep attachment forming between the two young men instantaneously. 

Aware that Sherlock is a troubled young man, she can sense that John Watson will be a perfect fit for her boy; a grounding rock of stability, steadfastness, protectiveness with a devoted love to top it off. 

Though her boys feel she is clueless, she actually has her finger on the pulse of everything happening. She utilizes Sherlock’s homeless network to her own advantage. Her backdoor and kitchen are a welcome place for the people of the homeless network to find food, warmth and a wise elderly woman who will listen to them. With her deep pockets, she makes sure they are cared for and in return they love her to pieces. So Mrs. Hudson knows what Sherlock is up to most times before he does.

She’s a woman who knows how to work the room. A consummate actor, Mrs. Hudson can cry at the drop of a hat; feign fragile vulnerability and can stand against the darkness in dark hearted men when necessary. She is made of stronger stuff now that Sherlock had shown her that nothing is beyond her power to win.

(-_-)

Sherlock and John, according to Mrs. Hudson, have accepted their inevitable fate. They are more than friends. It’s endearing and wonderful and maddening all at the same time. Keeping Mrs. Hudson on her toes as she meanders between their lives, tracks Her homeless network and keeps up with her neighbors (Mrs. Taylor and her married ones) and her own extended family.

(-_-)

They’ve have had a bit of a tiff. What Mrs. Hudson calls a little domestic. Yet this one seems to be going on for a much longer than usual time period. The quiet is oppressive. Eyes not meeting eyes. Stiff backs and even stiffer upper lips. 

Mrs. Hudson is nearing her point of being beyond miffed. This is not going to go on any longer. She won’t have it. 

As they enter the sitting room banging things down and being hyper quiet, the flatmates and ‘colleagues’ find Mrs. Hudson standing in the middle of the sitting room. John’s sig sauer held firmly in her grip. With the gun held down, pointed at the floor. 

She is given to glare at her ‘boys’ that will strip the wallpaper off the walls and melt the spine of most men.

“Mrs. Hudson,” John admonishes her, coming forward as if to remove the dangerous weapon from her hand. 

Aiming the gun at the ceiling above their heads she shoots with calm accuracy. Pieces of the ceiling rain down on upon them.

“Now that I have your attention – you are going to shake hands right now.”

They rush to comply.

“You are going into that bedroom and you are going to sort this out. All this silent animosity is not on. Got it?”

Sherlock makes as if to comment. Mrs. Hudson doesn’t aim the gun at him. But her steely eyed gaze stops him mid – retort. At the same time John places a restraining hand on his shoulder and gently pushes him in the direction of Sherlock’s bedroom.

“I want to hear shoes hitting the wall as you disrobe and that posh bed of yours better commence to creaking in a delightfully rhythmic manner.”

John now smiles broadly and taking Sherlock by the hand guides him in. He immediately removes a shoe and hikes it at the wall followed by the next. Sherlock, now sure that there is no way but Mrs. Hudson’s highway, follows suit.

Their door closes slowly as minor noises, hushed words and giggles emanate from within.

Mrs. Hudson then sits in Sherlock’s chair. Places the gun in its safety box and locks the box securely. Pulling out her Sudoku book from her apron pocket, she settles in. 

Several hours later – Sherlock and John emerge as butterflies from their cozy cocoon. There is no Mrs Hudson. Clad in their towels from a mutual shower, the two men mug at one another.

“I think that was sufficient enough time consumption for her to grow weary and depart.” Sherlock smirks. 

“I’d like to think it was more than time consumption.” John says holding himself up in a rather lewd way. 

Then the warming basket with freshly baked goods in it makes it self known by the pervasive smell that engulfs them. Both men experience the Pavlovian watering of the hungry mouths. 

“I’ll set the kettle to boil.” Sherlock advises.

“I’ll order Tai, our usual.” John states as he begins searching debris in the setting room looking for his mobile. While nicking a fresh baked scone from the warming basket.

Mrs. Hudson WooHoo’s at the door as she enters, holding several large bags of delicious Tai smelling food.

“Mrs. Hudson – you are a saint.” John takes the bags from her and moves into the kitchen to plate everything. “There’s enough here, should you like to join us?”

“Thanks, no, John. I’m off to meet my Baccara club meeting. I’ll see you boys tomorrow.”

Sherlock pours hot water into the tea pot. Setting the cups and saucers close. They both sit at the cleared kitchen table and begin to ravish the take away from Tai heaven.

“You know we have been manipulated don’t you?” John states between bites.

“Yes, I surmise that much. But done in such a dramatic and exciting way. I think I can live with that.”

“We are going to have to fix the ceiling. And no I’m not going to pay someone to fix it.” John says emphatically.

“I’ll hold the ladder for you.” Sherlock says with his mouth full.

John gives him the glare from ‘not on my watch avenue.’

John’s mobile chimes with a text from Mrs. Hudson with an attachment.

He taps the attachment.

Clearing her throat her voice speaks. “From my vantage point, you are equally at fault and should there fore equally assist in the repair work. Any deviation from my sentiments will be met with a time out on baked goods for over a week.”

“That is motivationally compelling.” Sherlock meekly responses. 

“Do you think she has bugs in here?” John looks around suspiciously. 

“No, I do not.” comes the defiant words of Mrs. Hudson from John’s mobile. “I leave you to your deductions.”


	2. Mycroft vs. Hudson, or how I learned to relax and let Hudders win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft learns that Mrs. Hudson isn't who he thought she was. Mrs. Hudson likes her tea double cream, no sugar. Beware the woman with no past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a direct connection to the original chapter. Someone asked for more BAMF Hudders and I thought her taking on Mycroft would be totally terrific. Enjoy and thanks for all the love.

Mycroft leans against the front of his massive desk. His hands resting on the ancient carved wood work edging. Unconsciously, his long fingers lingering, caressing the magnificent design. 

“It has come to my attention,” he begins. “That you are far from what you appear to be.” He finally notices that he’s fiddling with the wood and stops; bringing his right hand to his lips, his left hand coming to encompass his chest.

Mrs. Hudson sits comfortably in a red leather wing back chair. She’s watching Mycroft like a hawk circling that tiny mouse way down there on the ground. Her smile is ever so diminutive and controlled. Her eyes glinting in the warm glow of the lamps scattered around Mycroft’s office. This is his space, yet she has commandeered more than her share of it. 

The quiet is interrupted as an elderly gentleman dressed in impeccable 19th century waiter attire, enters pushing a tea trolley. The scent of strong tea penetrates the air

“Double cream, no sugar, please.” She says in hushed tones.

The waiter draws her tea first and hands her the fine bone China with the British signage emblazoned in gold on the cup.

Then he deftly draws Mycroft’s tea and sets it on a coaster next to his right hand. Then he exits the room on silent feet.

“And what is it that you think I am?” She sips her excellent tea, peering over the rim to look into Mycroft’s very soul.

Perturbed, the head of the British Government lifts his tea. Sipping rather self-consciously, he takes a moment to gather himself. This shouldn’t be happening. This diminutive woman should not be able to fluster him. No one gets to ‘The Iceman’. 

“I must admit that your history goes back only a small span of years. Then everything goes blank. No common person should be able to disappear so incredibly completely.” Mycroft straightens his back. Lifts his tea and lets the Assam tea work its magic on his jangled senses.

“Many people disappeared during the war.” She states as she places her cup down on the saucer in her lap.

“Which war?” 

“Pick one.” She smiles brightly.

“You are, therefore, indicating that you were part of the secret intelligence services of this country during the last world conflagration?”

“You could say that.”

“There is no need for obfuscation. Either you were or you weren’t?”

“I was many things to many people. You know that knowledge of some situations are ‘eyes only’. What level is your security clearance?”

“My clearance is Red-Zero-Red.” Mycroft lifts his chin in triumph.

“To talk to you, you’d have to be Zero-Seven-Midnight clearance.” Mrs. Hudson begins sipping her tea again. _(Queen to King, checkmate,)_ she thinks as she lets the steam caress her wise old face.

Lowering his shoulders, Mycroft retreats to his high backed padded chair behind his massive desk. He has been undone.

“Is there anything you can tell me about your current situation?” He ventures in a soft voice.

“I’m neither retired nor desirous of any further projects. You may continue surveillance of me at your own risk.”

“Noted.” Mycroft puffs his chest out and huffs a defiant breath. “Can I ask what your designation is?”

“Of course, for the uninitiated you know of Nyx the goddess of night?”

“Yes, A shadowy Greek figure, Nyx stood at the beginning of creation and mothered other personified deities such as Sleep, Death, and Darkness. She was the Mother of all Mothers.”

“There you have it. That is my designation.”

“That is way beyond my pay grade.” Mycroft’s eyes bulge as he takes a final sip of his now cooled tea. 

“I want to thank you for coming in to see me.” He says by way of actual thanks. “There will be no further need to impinge upon your activities. I hope that you will forgive my maladroitness. It will not happen again.”

“I assure you that if it does, your present existence will be but a memory. I’m sure Sherlock would barely miss you.” Mrs. Hudson says as she stands. Straightening her ruffled dress. 

Mycroft rushes to hold her coat as she slips into it. 

Straightening her over garment, she turns sweetly. “This has been a rather interesting waste of my time, Mycroft. Do give the British Government my best regards and know that Sherlock and John are under my protection now and are no longer to be harassed or in any way intimidated.”

Mycroft looks at the floor briefly before meeting her eyes. “I’m quite aware that my position in this whole affair is untenable. I will amend my ways.”

“There, that’s the Mycroft I want to see. Let’s pretend this whole thing never happened, shall we.”

Mycroft clears his throat and nods in acknowledgment. As Mrs. Hudson walks out the door, Mycroft thinks _(Never underestimate the power of the Mother of all Mothers.)_


End file.
